


Viva la Renaissance

by bushidobunny, Winnychan



Category: TMNT (2007), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2007 Movie), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Blanket Permission, Bromance, Comedy, Drunken Shenanigans, Epic Bromance, Gen, Podfic Welcome, That's right, Twentysomething Mutant Ninja Turtles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 01:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12877554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushidobunny/pseuds/bushidobunny, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnychan/pseuds/Winnychan
Summary: Raphael and Donatello try absinthe together. Nobody sees any green fairies or hallucinates.  Don would happily explain, that's just not what real absinthe DOES. But, oh... man, is it strong.





	Viva la Renaissance

 

Imagine Raphael’s horror taking in the dainty accessories Donatello laid out in preparation for their first experience with an illegally imported bottle of genuine absinthe. There were tiny glass goblets and some kind of -- Raphael actually had no words for whatever that thing was dominating the center of the table. Looked sort of like a kegger, except made of glass and metal and designed to look all fancy by some fantasy steampunk weirdo.

 

He spied a delicate bowl of pure white, perfectly-formed cubes and stabbed a thick green forefinger at them, immediately suspicious.  "Are those... are those _crumpets?_ Fuck. Do I gotta understand how to play Cricket now?"

 

Don snorted. "Those are not crumpets, Raphael. This is what we call _culture_. Now, shaddup and drink."

 

"Hey! You said we were gonna drink some bright green, super strong liquor," Raphael protested. He dropped onto the nearest chair and eyed the bottle warily. "I was down for that. Nobody said _nothing_ about drinkin’ _culture_."

 

"Package deal, bro,” the younger shinobi declared. “Tonight we party like our namesakes!"

 

"Wait, what?" Raph glanced up sharply, impressed. "Ya sayin' our Italian Artist dudes were some kinda party animals?"

 

"Oh, yes!" Don explained as he stirred in the last gritty remnants of the sugar cubes. "And this particular culture was their poison of choice. Well... this, and opium."

 

Raph scratched at the back of his head dubiously. "Oh. Well... then I guess we kinda hafta?" He shot the other turtle a quick, warning look. "The bright green liquor culture ONLY, Donnie."

 

"My thoughts exactly," Donatello assured him.  "Heh, no worries! Fresh out of opium." He slid one of the fluted, short-stemmed glasses full of jewel green, undiluted absinthe towards his brother. Then he filled a second glass for himself and hefted it, flashing a brilliant smile. "Salute!"

 

"Yeah, cheers," Raph practically grumbled, lifting his glass uncertainly. He brought it closer to his face; his snout wrinkled up immediately at the powerful licorice smell wafting up from the delicate glass. "Phugh! You expectin’ me ta chug this, or sip it?"

 

Don shrugged casually and threw back the absinthe like a shot.

 

"Ugh, thank God," Raph muttered under his breath before downing the vile-smelling beverage in a single swallow.

 

Donatello nodded thoughtfully as he set the glass down in front of him. "Now we will try it with the water infusion. Mostly because I want to use this thing!" He indicated the ornate vessel with silver spigots on either side. It only looked old fashioned, but was actually brand new and something he’d been able to have express shipped from Amazon.

 

Raphael's voice was raspy but pleasant enough. "Okay. So that was... fire, basically."

 

Don tilted his head. "Fire. Which is -- _good_ , right? Isn't that a slang term people are using these days to describe something awesome?"

 

Raphael's mouth curled in amusement. "Yeah? 'Cept I was talkin' bout... like, _actual_ fire."

 

"Ah," Don bobbed his head once, mock-serious. "I will take a note that culture tastes like fire."

 

"So, next we do watered down fire? Cause that was just, what..." Raph broke into a toothy grin. "Hardcore first round, gettin’ us started? I like it."

 

"Really more a... status thing. It felt wrong to have someone's first taste of absinthe be anything other than pure. But fixing it properly, with all the accessories, it's a time honored tradition!"

 

"Right, Like..." Raph waved a vague hand in a careless gesture that would have sloshed the drink if there had been anything left in his glass.  "You can't fully appreciate the _bouquet_ of the wormwood, and all the _complex notes_ and shit, until it's completely charred your whole fuckin’ throat."

 

Don laughed. "Something like that, yes!" He’d refilled both glasses with liquor and had opened one of the spigots to let ice cold water drizzle gently onto the sugar cube and through the slotted spoon, pooling in the half full glass. He watched the liquid shift rapidly from translucent green to milky jade, and found the swirling transformation lovely and intriguing. 

 

"Can you imagine that there are people topside whose only job is to wait around until somebody at a restaurant orders wine, and then they bring out the bottles, and they describe it to the otha’ humans in all kindsa flowery words like that? It's like a somma... summel... I dunno what you call it, but it's totally a real job."

 

"Sommelier," Donatello supplied, abruptly refocusing on Raph and his random tangent. "It is actually a rather prestigious job."

 

"Oh, yeah! Real prestigious. Gettin' paid ta lie ta people, so they feel better about paying way too much for a god damned bottle of wine. What’d you do with your life, man? You do a lot of good for ya fellow man, didja make something beautiful? Nah. You upsold booze to a buncha upper crust assholes with a whole lotta butt-kissing. And some half-assed poetry that nobody gonna remember by tomorrow."

 

"Oh, wow," Don observed, heavy with sarcasm. "Sounds like _someone_ is a little bitter that they cannot be a sommelier!"

 

Raphael threw back his head and laughed.

 

Don slid the second glass he’d prepared towards Raphael. "Salute!"

 

"To drunk-ass artists!" Raph toasted before taking a drink.

 

"Viva la renaissance!" Don agreed, joining him.

 

Raphael scrubbed at his mouth and peered into his glass, observing, "Alright. That was actually a way better amount of fire."  He glanced at Don and leaned in to inform him with vague apology, "Sorry, pal. That's your new job. You gotta crumpet me from now on. With the tea party spoon and the water machine and everything. Pretty sure I ain't qualified!"

 

Donatello was apparently fine with this. "Should not be a problem. Huh... curiosity mode setting in. Wonder what would happen if we did both methods simultaneously?"

 

"Wait, methods?" Raphael looked at his companion sharply. 

 

"The sugar and the water?"  

 

"Yeah, yeah. That's what I want, both of the things.” He tore his gaze off the weird fountain and jumps back into the debate. "But how come you're calling it _methods?_ Are we sciencing? Drunk science don't sound like a real good idea, Donnie."

 

"Oh, come on. Drunk science is fun science!" The genius added offhandedly, "Leonardo Da Vinci was all about drunk science. Worked out for him."

 

“Look. _Maybe_  to doin' drunk science? Except, I don't wanna have to write down any data logs or look at booze under a microscope." His grin widened. "None of that. Mostly, I just wanna drink it!"

 

"In my life, I have found that you can excuse almost any behavior as science, so long as you write your findings down. If you don't, then you are just being," and here Don emphasized with quote fingers, "’destructive’ and ‘reckless’."

  
"Oh, yeah!" Raph decided on the spot. "Destructive and reckless? Sign me up. I'll be both'a those things, no problem. Totally qualified!” One thick finger stabs the table between them. “Meanwhile, you can be the logger of shitty drunk science. On top of bein’ my sugar cube bitch. Which, heads up? That job don't pay too well. But... who cares, right? S’real fuckin' _prestigious!_ "


End file.
